


A paid model

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Passion, Public Masturbation, Seduction, Short, Temptation, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Draco lives a workaholic lonely frustrated life. He drinks a lot and smokes a lot in the balcony while masturbating. Due to a fatal curse-threat the ministry locks down the city of London resulting Draco loses his job. Even though he lives opposite Harry's apartment they haven't interacted much until the lockdown.Draco is daring but tends to have a sweet side too.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 14
Collections: Drarry Fics, Drarry One-shots, Short fics that I liked.





	A paid model

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> I wrote this totally inspired by Covid 19 crisis while staying stuck at home. It's short and pretty direct. Hope you guys find it interesting.  
> Well, being stuck inside is depressing but sometimes you live more depressing lives working and in lonesome. I think it's a kind of lockdown too. 
> 
> I love writing attractive, charming, sex icon Draco who is daring and does not give a damn. Also Harry, quiet, calm but a natural fighter.  
> Here Draco is frustrated and very needy and unintentionally seduces Harry.

He is standing at the very end of the queue unruffled by the irritable length and the tedious looks on the faces waiting. With his weekly supplies in the cart his head bent over a book ignoring the ringing gloom in the air he is standing in his calm. 

However his kind is the last to be threatened by the mortal peril floating in the community. The fatal curse was only on the Muggle-born in London. Eventhough he does not fall directly under the hideous threat, he as well as all the residents in the city of London, is deprived of work, restricted to his apartment which is located just opposite Harry's. 

Before the dark days his life was spent mostly at work except for the few times he came home, to sit in his lonesome with a cigarette to burn something he wanted to burn or, with a random woman or a man which, however, happened occasionally. 

His esteemed advertising company got shut down temporarily forcing his workaholic life to embrace the house and books accompanied by abundant smoking practiced on the balcony.

When the city sleeps, when the TVs and the radio music is off he usually comes out to enjoy the summer breeze after a shower or so, in a towel wrapped around his lower body or in his jeans; his creamy white body glowing in the starlit darkness. He relishes a smoke or a glass of whiskey occasionally playing with himself not bothered that the occupant of the opposite dwelling might be watching. Leaning against the parapet wall his glass of whiskey on it, distant streetlights on his creamy naked back, muscles dancing gracefully for his hand moves in his clothing and the other hand with the cigarette resting on the wall after every intake. Deep summer silence and breeze-less thick atmosphere profoundly bringing the soft grunts and moaning while smoke rings rising up from his parted lips turned upwards. At the peak of his moment most of the times, the cigarette falls off between his lean fingers down the wall as his hand clasps the wall for his body goes weak with an audible moan of high elation. His body moves beautifully while breathing goes heavy and then steady. He stays indulging in his combined pleasures of whiskey and smoke and his desires, leaned against the wall and ends it with the remaining bit of the drink before going in. 

In his haste to pay the bill after spending hours in the supermarket queue in the morning, he forgot his book on the cash counter. Harry procured it, put it in a grocery bag along with the slab of chocolate he had bought for himslef and left it on his stoop. 

The first and the only time he had rung his bell before, was once the curfew was declared due to dark magic threat. Ministry raided his house searching for dark objects or magic related to the airborne curse which killed ten muggle-born wizards a week before. He appeared quite cool and passive throughout the raid moreover assisting the aurors make a mess of his house.

Yet he also minds not manifesting his usual disposition to the world. Two days back he engaged in his unrestrained act disregarding the fact that Harry was in the range of vision. He was seen drinking a glass of wine when a torrential downpour happened solacing the summer heat. Rain washing his isolation, his white shirt plastered to his body, water dripping from his head down the skin making him look like a marble statue except for his act of fulfilling his desires under the rain.  
Running one white hand through his wet hair of his upturned head, the other in his cotton jeans stroking, milking himself, his mouth open drinking summer rain.

Thus not expecting a feedback of any sort, Harry fell asleep not thinking much of the book and his lonely neighbour. But proving the erroneousness of his assumption in the dead of the night an enchanted note came flying through his bedroom window.

'Thank you!' — Draco

Two days of monotonous routine that he tried to wash away in a lengthy shower, and then walked out on to the balcony using the only option, living in the city of London has given him, but no gust of wind was there to treat his naked torso rightly. All the houses were falling asleep calling it just another day.  
Since his flat also was strangely in total darkness Harry thought he also had gone to bed too early tonight. He realised his observation was very wrong when a second note flew into the house in the morning while he was having his morning coffee.

'You've got a beautiful body!' 

With the sudden surge of blood in his head, his veins going numb, a soft tingle under his skin, he reads it again and again.  
His feet dragged him out to the balcony with his coffee in his hand. He was also standing with the rising sun shimmering on his cream-cheese skin. A few minutes' mute gaze into his green eyes, and then he was not hesitant to let it skim across the visible details of the body. Harry looked away allowing it using ample time to finish his coffee. 

And was not entirely surprised to find another note in the living room the next day.

'I'm looking for a model for a figure painting. Not for sale. My collection.'

Harry remembers the painting he witnessed during the raid. The painting of a beautiful naked man with short dark hair and electric blue eyes, along with many paintings of naked women and scenery paintings.

He wrote many replies of the identical meaning in several pieces of paper, crumbled all, and threw away. Then he read the final attempt many times considering and calculating. Finally he sighed with a mild satisfaction.

'I admire your work.'

The reply flies in a second. 'He happened many years back.'

Followed by another.  
'Five years or so.'

Followed by the third.  
'He meant nothing much and the others are paid models.'

Before he writes a reply another note flies in and falls at his feet.  
'It's alright. Forget I asked.'

He reads the dead end, just one more time, grabs a bottle of fine wine which he has received as a gift, walks out of his dwelling.

It is clearly drawn on his pretty face that he has not been reading or sleeping or painting and definitely not expecting a visitor when he opens the door. The ink marks in his fingers and the unbuttoned shirt is loud enough. He stops dead at the sight of Harry, nods and steps aside allowing him to enter and closes the door quietly. And accepts the bottle of wine. 

A few calculating moments of silence passes absorbing the situation reading each other. 

Then Harry breaks the ice.

'Am I going to be a paid model?' 

His gaze deepens, sharpens, penetrating Harry's skin. He places the bottle of wine on the nearest flat surface. Stuffs his hands in his pockets. Then perfecting an inviting gesture open and wild, admiring every inch of his body, he leans against the closed door.

'I don't have enough to pay you!' 

Harry sighs reading the smooth seduction, the ravishing resourcefulness of his charm, agreeing and steps closer. 

'But what did you give the other man?' places his wand hand on his naked chest.

He sighs allowing his hand skim across his the reading the creases, groves and hairs, every imperfect perfection of his body.  
'How much time you have before duty?' 

'Three and a half days and thirty minutes. I'm on leave!'  
He replies surveying the silver gray now dilating, gleaming fixed on him hard, perhaps to paint the perfect portrait.

Undoubtedly for his personal goal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
